


Operation Hook France and Canada Up

by JAMoczo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAMoczo/pseuds/JAMoczo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America takes it upon himself, with the help of England, to hook up his baby brother with France. With an operation plan called "Operation Hook France and Canada Up, Although If That Frenchie Hurts My Little Bro I'll Pwn Him", or "OHFACUAITFHMLBIPH", it goes about as well as you'd expect. Kink meme de-anon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Canada was drunk. America felt the quick thrill of "brace yourself!" that he always got when going out to drink with England, but reminded himself that this was Canada. His little brother was a lot nicer and –

"I'm so lonely!" Canada wailed, clinging to America. "You stupid – you left me for England and now I have no one! I didn't even like hanging out with you and now I miiiiss iiiiiit! Idiot!"

America patted him on the head. It was nice to know that Canada had inherited _something_ from England. "I didn't leave you. I'm still your awesome big brother!"

"You're younger than me!"

"Pfft we're twins and I'm taller. So I'm bigger."

Canada sniffled. "You're still a bleeding tosser and a right arse."

Ahhh, that sounded familiar! "We just need to get you a date, and then you'll feel better. Any nice lady catch your fancy?" Canada sat up now, looking forlorn. Then he said something in French. Unfortunately, America's extent of knowing French came from "Lady Marmalade," and if he used that phrase with England he got sucker-punched. "You're gonna have to speak English, bro."

"That's the point! I spoke French so you wouldn't know who I just confessed my undying unrequited love for!" Canada mourned, drinking more.

He had nothing else for it. Embracing the technique of brothers everywhere, he got Canada in a headlock and gave him a noogie until he confessed.

* * *

He went to England for sympathy and got it in the form of being screwed into the mattress. He didn't mind that, but it still didn't solve the immediate problem. "So…" he ventured, not sure how to phrase this without giving England a heart attack, "I feel bad for Canada."

England was lying on his stomach, a book resting on the pillow, and he didn't even bother removing his eyes from the pages as he responded, "Is this because you left him at that bar?"

"I didn't… oh shit, I did." He moved to go find his cell phone.

"It's all right; I called a cab for him. So if not that, is it because you locked him into the conference room again?"

America turned onto his side, giving England his best pout. England knew it was there and his lips quirked into a smirk, but he didn't look up. "It's hardly my fault that he dropped his papers-"

"What about how you ate his lunch and yours?"

"I was hungry, and-"

"Or when you thought his glasses were your spare pair and he walked around blindly for two weeks?"

"It's not my fault we have the same prescription and-"

"And then there was the time-"

"That's not the point!" America hastily cried, his embarrassment permitting England to give a full-out smile. "The point is that I feel bad for Canada, because he's really lonely. He really needs a boyfriend, but…"

Assuming, and rightly so, that America was not about to give this up, England removed the book and rested his head on the pillow, facing him and his eager yet worried expression. "Your brother is far more introverted than you are, so perhaps he's pleased with his solitude."

"I don't think he's lonely, I _know_ he is," America retorted, tapping his own temple. "He said it while drunk, and now that I'm paying attention, I can feel it."

One of England's impressive eyebrows quirked up. "Feel it?"

"Yeah. We're twins. We can do that kinda thing." He gave a dismissive hand-wave. "I think the Italy brothers can do it too."

"… … Contrary to your blasé attitude, most siblings can't-"

"He totally wants France."

 _That_ shut England up. And then he snickered. "You must be joking."

America shook his head, not looking amused at all. With the slightest tint of a blush, he admitted, "He feels towards France like I feel towards you. But that's the problem! No way is my brother going to get together with France! If I ever see a sex tape of him online I may just wipe France off the map."

"You say that as if it's a bad thing…"

"Eeeeenglaaaaaad this is seeerioooous," he whined. "My brother wants a playboy and I want my brother to be not lonely but also not a toy!"

England swept America's hair behind his ears in a soothing gesture. "All right. Tomorrow I'll talk to Canada about it, and you can talk to France. I think you'll feel better."

"By 'talk to' you mean 'threaten,' right?" America asked, eyes hopeful.

England chuckled. He raised him so well.

* * *

Canada couldn't remember a thing about the night before, much to his chagrin. Of course he knew that nothing scandalous had happened – he had woken up alone in a very cozy pair of flannel pajamas – but still, what if he'd said something? Or did something? There wasn't even a hockey game he could blame it on…

There was no other recourse. He was going to have to call America.

He balked when England answered the phone, although belatedly he realized that he should have expected it. "America's on a business trip," England explained soothingly, "but I'm more than willing to talk to you, my dear boy."

He wasn't sure what did it; his father-figure being so nice, or the fact that he really was that lonely, but rather than hang up, like he should have done, he asked, "Did America mention anything about last night? All I know is I had this hangover that hurt like bloody hell and…" He cleared his throat; apparently he wasn't feeling 100%, if he was making British swears.

England chuckled soothingly. "You did get a bit pissed, pet, but no, you didn't go to bed with anything unsavoury."

Canada let out a sigh of relief. "Oh, good-"

"However, I do think you should reconsider your affections for France."

Canada wasn't sure what was more shocking – that England knew, or the very noticeable change in demeanor from the other country. "I'm… not… eh…"

"Of course you'd be attracted to him," England continued, "He did raise you, and was likely the first person approaching civilized you'd ever met. But if you ever did have relations with him you'd likely contract an incurable disease, and we don't want that, do we?"

Canada stuttered a negative. "He's all talk!" he finally cried, "And – oh, why am I – I mean, thank you, but eh, I mean-"

"Canada, hush." He went silent. There was an awkward pause between the two before England finally continued, "You could do worse. I'm not entirely sure how, but you could."

Canada was bright red, thanking fate that this was a conversation taking place over the telephone. "Poland?"

"… I'll accept that."

"So, um, America knows, eh? And so this business trip he's on is aboot…"

* * *

"Yo!" America exclaimed, marching into France's house like he owned it. France, who was watering his rose garden, merely looked up with a sigh. Occasionally America would get a craving for edible food and would show up at random, and this time, France thought, was no exception. "I need to talk to you, dude!"

France gave a put-upon sigh, putting down his watering can. Before he knew it, however, he had been shoved into a corner and had America looming over him. France hoped against hope that the expression on the taller nation's face would be a sexy leer, but if it was, it was a remarkably frightening one. "FYI," he drawled, "if you hurt my baby brother, I will assure the only person you ever have sex with again is yourself, and you'll be able to because you'll be super flexible _without a spinal cord_."

Long used to hearing threats, France nodded. He considered asking what America was talking about, but decided he was better off not knowing.

"Awesome!" America clapped him on the back. "Now then, excuse me but I have this wicked strong taste for some French fries!" He cheerfully sauntered in the house.

There were a lot of things the now-alone France could ask. _What the hell just happened?_ or _Who said you could just go into my house and eat my food?_ , but what he finally settled on was, "How many times do I have to tell you that French fries are _Belgian?_ "

* * *

Later that week, England and America curled up on the couch under a large blanket with a cup of tea and hot chocolate, respectively. America had a notebook on his lap labeled "Operation Hook France and Canada Up, Although If That Frenchie Hurts My Little Bro I'll Pwn Him."

"Unwieldy, but it gets the point across," England said, proud. Really, this entire experience had made him realize just how much he and America had in common.

"I call it OHFACUAITFHMLBIPH."

Forget that whole "things in common" bit. "And does this plan have any details?"

"Well, I was hoping we could do it together," America admitted, ears turning red.

"All right," he replied, ears just as red. "Let's make a list of what we know of their likes and dislikes."

This is what they came up with:

**France:**

Likes: wine, perversion, cheese, nudity, losing, French Dislikes: things that are awesome (i.e. America) or relevant

**Canada:**

Likes: maple syrup, bears, hockey, (Fake) French Dislikes: things that are awesome (i.e. America)

"Didn't Canada win a cheese championship? Or was it wine?" England mused. America added "cheese and/or wine" to the list of Canada's likes.

"Oh! He likes violence and drugs!" the younger nation proudly proclaimed.

England raised an eyebrow. "Canada, your brother?"

"Yep! You'd be surprised."

They looked over the list. "So, essentially they shall be bonding over a love of cheese and wine and speaking French, and a hatred of you."

"That's harsh."

"But accurate. Now, we need an actual plan."

America winced. "See, the problem is that the typical dating stuff is just France's way of seducing people, which is so not what I want! They need to fall in love, not get laid!"

"You do realize that they're going to be doing that eventually," England said gently.

America winced again, eyes going unfocused, before he dramatically stood up. "I'll kill him!" The notebook and cocoa spilled to the floor.

England made a mental note about what to do the next time that wino made him mad, but stood up and cupped America's face. "America, look at me."

Reluctantly he made eye contact.

"You are not allowed to defend your brother unless he actually needs it," he said sternly. "But Canada loves the stupid bastard, so if you want him to be happy, you have to give France a chance."

Finally America nodded.

"All right. Come sit, poppet. We'll work on this later."


	2. Chapter 2

_**"Operation Hook France and Canada Up, Although If That Frenchie Hurts My Little Bro I'll Pwn Him" Step One: sappy romantic date** _

Canada had been "kidnapped" by someone and blindfolded, and while normally he would have worried about this, the fact was that America couldn't stop giggling and it was clearly giving him away. "Oh no, foul kidnapper, please don't hurt me," he deadpanned.

"Be quiet eef you want to leeeeve," America crooned in what he was clearly hoping was a dramatic voice. Canada sighed and went with it. Then he was sat down, although the blindfold wasn't removed from his face. He sighed impatiently as he heard America skitter off. He then heard two sets of steps enter the room and a rustling of clothes indicating someone was sitting down across from him. His eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing even as one of the steps walked away. "All right, you can take off your blindfolds," said England's vofice before the sound of a door shutting.

Canada removed his and felt all the blood rush to his face. He was sitting across from France, and they were both at a small, cozy table lit with candles. France was also... wearing a metal collar around his neck?

"Eh?" he asked, pointing to France's throat. It was far easier to focus on the little details as opposed to the fact that _he was eating dinner with France._

France gently touched the collar, looking curious. "I have no idea," he admitted. Then he looked up at Canada and smiled seductively, making Canada break into a cold sweat. _"Bonjour."_

 _"B-bonjour..."_ He took a long drink of water, trying to calm his nerves. Why was France looking at him like _that?_

And then he leaned forward, running his finger over the rim of his empty wineglass. "Well, I have no idea what _Amerique_ and _Angleterre_ are up to, but I know I am more than _up_ to enjoying a dinner with you." He winked. Canada died on the inside. "Perhaps, _mon ange,_ a night-"

All of a sudden he shouted in surprised pain, reaching for his neck.

Outside, England, dressing himself up for serving dinner, shot a look at America. The younger nation had the remote control to France's shock collar and was holding the button down with a look of cold fury on his face. England sighed, reached out and took the remote. "Really, my dear."

America pouted. "He's hitting on him! About sex!"

England vaguely wondered if he could be considered a pedophile for sleeping with America. With a small shake of his head, he put the remote into his apron and wheeled the wine cart into the room. France was breathing hard and looking affronted, while Canada looked completely mortified.

"Tonight's courses shall be your choice of pressed foie gras with peppered Madeira jelly, smoked duck, peach and almond crumble; lobster ravioli, langoustine and salmon poached in a light bisque, with a tomato chutney; fillet of turbot with braised baby gem lettuce and cep sauce; cannon of Cornish lamb with confit shoulder, ratatouille and thyme jus; or roasted pigeon from Bresse with grilled polenta, smoked pork belly and date sauce. For the appetizer we have a cart of cheese for your perusal." _Anyone who says I can't cook has never met Gordon Ramsay,_ he thought smugly at their shocked expressions. "Wine?" he asked pleasantly, holding up a bottle of red and a bottle of white. "We have a Château Bauduc and a Pinot Auxerrois."

France, being France, was unable to resist commenting on England's attire. "So you've finally realized that you're best off serving others?" he purred, doing his best to make the comment be both insulting and seductive. He had a quota to reach, after all.

England's polite façade fell and he put down the wine, reached into the pocket of his apron and pressed the button to France's shock collar, causing the older nation to fall to the floor in spasms. Canada looked at England with the largest violet eyes he'd ever seen, clearly yet silently pleading _SAVE ME_ , but instead England smiled and poured him a glass of wine. Canada gulped it down even as France recovered himself.

"Do you know what you want, or shall I come back in a few minutes?" England asked.

"I'll go with the foie gras," Canada muttered.

England smiled at him and decided that what was good enough for Canada was good enough for France, and so he left without getting the latter's order.

"Really my dear," America echoed back at him snarkily.

He handed over the remote. "Make him suffer."

"I love you."

"I know." He winked at him before going to go cook.

Back in the room, Canada helped France back into his seat. "I'm so sorry! I don't know what's gotten into them, really, they've just, you know, randomly decided, ha ha, to you know, do things that are very odd and I'm so sorry and oh dear I'm rambling and _wait where's Mr. Kumajirou?_ "

Ignoring France, who looked miffed that he was being left behind for a bear, Canada ran over to the door and knocked on it. He assumed the glass looking into the room was one-sided and didn't feel like yelling at someone he couldn't see but could see him. He banged on the door until America opened it up a crack.

"Um, we punish insolence, bwa ha ha?"

"Shut up! Where's Mr. Kumajirou?"

"Who?"

Oh, that was refreshing, to hear people wonder who that stupid bear was as opposed to said stupid bear wondering who _he_ was. "The bear that I always have with me!"

"Ohhh. Right. He's getting to see a bit of the world, you know? He's on a journey!"

 _"He's with China isn't he,"_ he hissed.

America, guilty, closed the door and locked it.

Canada sighed. He'd get Mr. Kumajirou back, although likely tie-dyed black, and maybe the stupid bear would remember who he was now. He shuffled to go sit back down across from France. "Sorry about that."

France waved that away with a hand before casually drinking his wine. "Not a problem," he said, his English stilted. "I do not blame you for worrying about your bear. In fact, I, too, was worried about your bear, and thus I hope he is okay."

Canada raised an eyebrow at him. "What…?"

France pointed to the shock collar. Then Canada understood: France was going to do his best to not get shocked the rest of the night. Good for him. "Thank you," he said pleasantly. "I think he will be, although he might think he's a panda. How are you doing? I'm sorry my brother is-" quickly realizing that America might punish France for any insults that even Canada gave him, he quickly amended – "so protective of me, and the best brother I've ever had."

"This is also not a problem," said France, eyes twinkling, thanking Canada for playing along, "I am just glad that I will be able to spend a nice evening with one of my favorite people, by which I mean you, Canada, and that America and England" Canada was impressed at France's self-control at referring to them in their English names "are so kind as to set this up for us. They are wonderful people. In fact I am so looking forward to this that I think we should do it again later this week, perhaps Friday night?"

Canada blushed to the roots of his hair. France was asking him out on a date… without voyeurs! "That sounds lovely," he admitted, looking at the empty plate.

England brought out their meals to where America was standing and shared a look of surprise with him. "I can't believe this actually worked," he admitted.

"Oh come on, this is the best plan ever! Didja hear him? I'm the best brother he's ever had." America preened like a peacock.

England didn't point out the obvious fact that America was the only brother Canada had, but instead smiled and patted his hand. Slipping the remote into his pocket just in case, he went out to serve the happy couple their (burnt, sadly) dinners.

* * *

China dropped Kumajirou off at Canada's house later that night. As predicted he was now black and white spotted, but Canada didn't mind. He had a date, with France!

"CANADA!" the bear cried, latching on to his leg. China huffed something about ingrates and left.

Canada beamed. Not only did he have a date, with France, but Mr. Kumajirou _knew his name!_

This was the best day ever!

* * *

_**"Operation Hook France and Canada Up, Although If That Frenchie Hurts My Little Bro I'll Pwn Him" Step Two: jealousy** _

"Sooo Caaanaaadaaa," America crooned, smirking, "to help make your loneliness go away, I found you a new boyfriend!"

Canada froze in the middle of the hall. Kumajirou, spots still fading, peeked over his shoulder before squeaking and hiding in his arms. "Eh?" He glanced over his own shoulder.

"He's a cutie," Poland said with a bright smile.


	3. Chapter 3

"What have you done!" Canada demanded, gripping America's jacket hard enough to rip. "What – why – how – what!"

"If France is jealous of your completely believable relationship with Poland, then he'll be more likely to do things like ask you to marry him!" America replied easily. "Which, by the way, he'll have to do if he ever wants to have sex with you and not die painfully afterward."

"That's like really old-fashioned, but whatever," Poland murmured, buffing his fingernails.

Canada shook that jacket harder. "We're already going out on a date! It's tomorrow night!"

"You're such a player!" America laughed.

 _"This isn't funny, Alfred Fairfax Jones,"_ Canada growled. _"This is very much not funny."_

Poland sighed, standing up. "I don't know what's worse, that the F stands for Fairfax, or that you're, like, so against going out with me."

America gave Poland a desperate look. "Never pass that on! No one can know that awful middle name! No one!"

"Whatever."f

"And it's not that I'm particularly averse to you, Poland," Canada added desperately, "but I already sort of have a boyfriend, so really…"

"You don't have to justify yourself," he pouted. "I get it. You can't handle my sheer fabulousity."

"Eh?" was all Canada could think to ask.

"Not many people can," Poland continued, still pouting, "I mean, like, no one I know can. So, you know, even though I like, was totally into going on a date with you, I'll just walk away now, because yeah."

Canada was, unfortunately for him, a very empathetic individual. "All right, I'll go on a date with you," he said helplessly.

"Sweet," said Poland. America smiled in victory.

* * *

"I'm really sorry but I have to cancel dinner for tomorrow," Canada mourned into the phone.

France sounded surprised. _"Pourquoi?"_

"Because my brother is an idiot."

There was a cheerful laugh. "If that were the reason, then we would never have our date, now would we?"

Canada didn't know what was better – that France didn't resent him, or that France had referred to their next dinner as a _date_. He giggled and then mentally smacked himself for giggling. "Yes, but you see, um, he set me up on a date. With Poland. And-"

There was raucous laughter. Realizing just how ridiculous the situation was, Canada laughed too. "Yeah. So I'm going on a date with Poland instead of you. But not because I want to! Because I feel bad for him, and because my brother is _incroyablement stupid."_

France finally recovered from the laughter and although he couldn't see it, he just knew that he was nodding in agreement. " _Oui, mon ange._ I shall find something else to occupy my time while I pine for you. Are you free the next day?"

Canada made a big show of looking into his empty plan book. "I think I am," he said, trying to not sound too eager, but he was grinning like an idiot.

 _"Excellente._ Oh, and might I suggest you brush up on your French? Just in case we have any voyeurs."

Canada beamed. _"Oui, c'est une merveilleuse idée!_ I know America doesn't know any French beyond that one song about prostitutes."

"Ooo, which song is that?"

Canada hung up on him, still smiling.

* * *

France was not, contrary to popular belief, incredibly inept. When shoved into a room with Canada and a romantic dinner, he was able to assume that it meant the boy had some feelings for him.

He was not complaining about this.

Canada was a breath of fresh air in the political world: polite yet sticking to his ideals, honest yet strong. The fact that he was easy on the eyes, adored France already, they had a pleasant past, and that he had a _twin_? Oo la la.

So no, France wasn't the least bit jealous that Canada was on a "date" with Poland. He was, however, bored. Which meant that it was time for his favorite activity: England Baiting ™.

As he approached the other nation, he noted with some dismay that it had been awhile since he'd last tormented him. In fact, it had been since before he and America had started their lovers' tryst… certainly not because America was scary.

" _Bonjour, Angleterre,"_ he purred, sliding up behind the Englishman and copping a feel. He skillfully dodged the retaliatory smack. "Ah ah ah, getting slow in your old age?"

"You're one to talk," England snapped back, although it lacked venom.

France grinned. " _L'amour_ has mellowed you, _mon ami_. I approve. It's a good look for you."

"Shut it, frog."

Well. If that's how he wanted to play it…

France put on his most infuriating smirk as he crooned, "It's incredible what a _young_ lover can do for you, am I right?"

England's back went rigid. This was the first time France had attacked his relationship with America, and he found himself angrier than he expected he'd be. England obviously knew that France intended it as an insult, even if not on the surface. "Oh?"

"Surely I don't need to elaborate, _Daddy_."

Finally the other nation found his own smirk, the one retired when he left the pirating business. "Ah, yes. I'm sure the boys will be happy to know you still think of them as children, _Papa_."

"… … Point taken, _Angleterre."_ Stupid. Stupid stupid.

"In fact, America will be overjoyed to hear that you are trying to rob his brother's cradle, so to speak."

"England-"

"So overjoyed, in fact, that you might lose a limb or two. And that's nothing compared to what might happen if Canada decides to be angry."

"You have made your point!" France snapped, identifying that as one conversation he did not want to have.

England bowed with a flourish.

France's grin returned. He'd been defeated and he knew it, and England knew it too, but that was the way it'd always been. "Let's get a drink. My treat. Us two old men need to celebrate the joy of young lovers!"

England smiled. "I can drink to that."

* * *

Canada was furious.

An hour! He waited a bloody hour! For nothing! To be stood up!

Poland had probably forgotten about him, or even forgotten who he was. But he could cause an international incident by giving him what-for, and really the flighty nation was… flighty… so Canada decided he wasn't going to bother him for this. Besides, he knew who to really blame.

He called America.

"If not for you I could be on a date! I got stood up! Come pick me up! _**Right now, America!"**_ he screamed into his phone, even earning a few stares.

The voice on the other end was embarrassed. "Listen dude, I'm sorry Poland flaked out, but France and England are getting drunk and-"

_**"I DON'T CARE, AMERICA! COME GET ME!"** _

"Aw geez. Maybe if I drive fast they won't burn down the bar this time…"

"What?"

"On my way, bro!" he hung up.

* * *

"Finally the boyscout is gone," England slurred after America left to go pick up Canada. "We can finally accom – accomp – do shtuff."

France nodded enthusiastically. "Didja know they're _twins?"_

"Who're twinsh?" England asked, drinking rum.

France had settled with some fine French-made vodka. Tonight was about getting drunk, not being refined. "Y' boy, 'n' my boy. Twins."

"Mmmhmm. Can'da's th' smar' one, 'n' 'merica's the char'shmatic one," England replied. "'n' boff wet th' bed, tho' it's 'cause 'merica getsh shcared 'n' Can'da's a sound shleeper."

France blinked. That sounded right. " _Oui_ , although I didn't tell Amer... geez that'sh a long name. A-mer-i-ca."

"Aaaah maaaare eeeee caaaaa," England sounded out. "Yep. 'sgot mer in it. Wonder if he's a mermaid. That'd be funny."

"Mmmm... 'merica and Can'da... as mermaids... twins..."

Both men drooled a bit at the idea. Finally England broke the silence with, "Bet 'merica's tits're bigger."

"Nyuh uh. Can'da's got more... more..." France spread his arms wide. "Tracts. Of land."

"Pooooint. But 'merica'sh got the nisher arshe."

"That's because he eats those things all the time. You know. With the burgers and ham." He took another shot. "The stuff he likes."

England laughed. "He'sh getti' fat. Used to have a met – met – a met-ab-o-li-sm like none ovver. Got really big really fast, stupid wanker."

"Mmm, wanking."

Suddenly both men looked uncomfortable.

"Did you ever... catch..."

"Yeah," France muttered. "In one of my shirts. T' me. Verrrrrrrrrry hot."

England nodded. "Shurprised as all get-out though. He wash in m' bed 'n' everythin'."

"Foursome," France breathed. "We should have one."

England looked thoughtful. "Y' need t' bugger Can'da first," he established. "'cause tha' boy needs a good rogerin'. Plus y' need t' get laid."

"Shut up!"

"It's truuuuuuuue. Woulda done it m'self 'cept he looks like 'merica."

America and Canada walked in.

"Twiiiiiiiiiiinsssss," France crooned, not even noticing the objects of his current fantasies walk in.

England's eyes glazed over. "Then we talk about foursomes."

America and Canada looked at each other and walked back out.

"How d' y know it's _l'amour_?" France mourned, head dropping to his arms.

England was thoughtful. "Y' jus' know," he said finally. "'n' I think y'd be good for Can'da and he'd b' good fer you. Y' need a nice boy. 'n' needs t' get buggered."

"So y' said. 'n' y' 'n' 'merica is good togevver. Very hot. Kinda wrong." He gave a thumbs-up.

"I'm gonna be sick," England established. He then threw up. France agreed before following suit.

* * *

Unlike his twin, Canada was not easily scared. The fact that the love of his life was trying to get him and his brother to have sex did not deter him at all. Russia would be scary, Liechtenstein would be adorable, Greece would like cats and France would be perverted. So the next day he dressed in his finest clothes with a tie that went with his violet eyes, one that France had gotten him, and he went out on that date with France.

For simplicity's sake, the authoress shall translate the following into English rather than break French-speaking readers' collective brains using online translation services. However it does need to be noted that America, who was certainly not hiding behind a newspaper while sitting at the table in the corner, couldn't understand a word either country was saying, and that England, who was embarrassed to be there, only could pick up bits and pieces.

"So you're not hungover, I see," Canada began cheerfully.

"For the most part," France admitted. "I apologize if I said anything improper, my angel. England brings out the worst in me, as I'm sure you well know."

(England straightened up in his seat, hearing his name.)

Canada waved that away with a hand. "I know that well enough by now. Even when I was little you two acted like this."

"But enough about him," France purred, leaning forward. "I want to talk about you."

"Me?" No matter how overused that line was, Canada still felt himself affected. Perhaps it was the seductive leer. Or perhaps it was just someone wanting to know more about _him_. "Not much to tell..."

"Nonsense. I feel there is so much I don't know. What do you like? What don't you like? Let me know how to please you."

Canada was not going to survive tonight.

("Maybe we should kidnap another member of the Francophone," America suggested brightly.

England shook his head. "America... frankly... I think they're going to be just fine without us."

"But what about step three of OHFACUAITFHMLBIPH?"

" _Especially_ without step three."

"But step three was the best step! The problem was going to be collecting the materials, but I'm sure one of your brothers has a goat..."

England let out a long-suffering sigh.)

Canada had no idea what to say that wasn't incredibly cheesy, and so he contented himself to blush and not make eye-contact.

"Don't worry about sounding silly," France cooed, "I am the country of love, after all. I know all the cheesy one-liners and the heart-felt devotion declarations. What I mean to say it, nothing you can say will sound ridiculous to my ears."

Canada finally blurted, "You. I love you. Always have and I always will. You're just perfect for me, my exact opposite, and that's why I think together we'd be perfect. Eh. Being redundant now. I'll just shut up. Right."

He was very surprised when France moved to kneel at his feet, taking both of his hands in his larger ones.

("Aw come on, are you sure we can't kidnap Switzerland?"

"Absolutely not. Now eat your dinner like a good boy.")

* * *

Canada had made it all the way back home and was still deliriously happy. He simply had to share this with his brother! He knew full well that America had been trying to set this up… his sweetheart brother… and while he hadn't been able to tell him on the plane back to North America, he thought he could tell him over the phone.

"What's up, bro?"

Canada smiled at that voice on the phone. "Oh, America… brother… France…" He sniffled. He was getting emotional again. "He told me…"

"Canada? You okay?" America sounded worried.

He sniffled again. So sweet! "Thank you for caring… I swear I've never hated you… Oh you can be annoying, but you're good when it counts… Ah geez, I told myself I wouldn't cry...!"

America's silence was tense. "He's dead." He hung up.

Only then did Canada realize he'd never said France had confessed. "Oh, fuck."


	4. Chapter 4

The English Channel is a fair bit smaller than the Atlantic Ocean, so England made it to France's house with plenty of time to prepare. "So America thinks you broke Canada's heart," he said tersely, cutting off the almost certain question as to how England had broken into his house. "He's on his way here, cell phone off."

"I was warned," France admitted, and England noted he was packing.

"You can't just _flee,_ even if you are French!" England snapped. "You might as well tattoo 'guilty' on your forehead!"

France let out a creative French swear. "And what am I supposed to do, wait until he bashes my skull upon and then accept his apology when he realizes I've done nothing wrong!"

"Canada's on his way here too, and I placed a few calls. fIn theory you'll be unharmed by the time Canada gets here to calm his brother down."

France finally deflated, sitting down on his half-packed luggage. "I always knew those boys would be the death of me. I was just hoping it would be because of the foursome…"

"Oh shut up."

* * *

The calls England had placed were to the other European nations who could beat America there – of course he had really only called Spain, Germany and Switzerland, but the Italys and… Prussia… had arrived as well.

"Ve~ This is so exciting!" Veneciano cheered. "It's so secret and sweet and romantic! Romano, if anyone breaks my heart, will you kill them too?"

"Hell yeah." Only Veneciano thought Romano would do it out of brotherly love.

"I already came up with this awesome plan to save France's sorry butt!" Prussia crooned, dramatically pointing to the chalkboard he'd dragged along for that purpose. "First we-"

"Germany Germany Germany!"

The blond sighed. "Yes, Italy?"

"If someone hurt Prussia, would you avenge him?"

Germany looked awkwardly between Prussia and Italy, knowing there was no good answer to that question.

"As if he'd need to! I'm invincible!" Prussia reminded them all.

"Ohhhh, right. But-"

"The _plan!_ " France interjected loudly.

"Right! First, we split up in the forest after tying a naked France to a stake-"

Already there as a chorus of vetoes.

"Whaaaat! You haven't heard the whole thing!"

"Why are we splitting up!"

"Why am I tied to a stake!"

"Why is he _naked!_ "

"Fine, someone _else_ come up with an awesome plan, and I'll just sit here and watch you fail," Prussia said, sounding rather put out as he sat down and pouted.

"Me next!" Veneciano cheered, standing up and going to the blackboard, erasing the remains of Prussia's rejected plan. In its place he drew a lovely picture of France wielding a white flag. "We all give big brother France a delicious farewell dinner 3"

Germany face-palmed loudly. Spain gave a happy sigh and pinched Veneciano's cheek. "So cute!"

"Knock it off you bastard!" Romano shouted at him. "You come up with a plan now!"

Spain regarded the blackboard. Then he erased the drawing and began to sketch what looked like America, and Spain in a bull-fighting outfit.

It was England who finally spoke. "America's not a bull, Spain."

"Oh, right." The smiling Spaniard gave America pointy ears, little horns and a cow tail. It was cute, yes, but hardly practical, so Switzerland finally huffed and got up, pushing Spain out of the way as he drew on the chalkboard quickly.

"Aww," said everyone at the adorable chibis. Then they all noticed what it was he'd drawn and grimaced. It was America getting shot in the face.

"Why don't I just shoot him?" he asked.

"He does have a point..." Romano rubbed his chin.

England stood up. "You are absolutely not shooting America in the face! No one is shooting America in the face, so stop looking so eager, _Romano!_ "

"Fuck you!"

Germany sighed, realizing that once again he was the only sane one. "Here's what we'll do."

* * *

The plane touched down in Paris, France. One incredibly angry national personification stepped off. He had spent the last twelve hours deciding exactly what he was going to do to the man who had defiled his poor innocent baby brother, as well as what theme music he was going to play as he enacted said torture.

France was going to choke on his genitals before being bludgeoned to death with his own limbs. "One Winged Angel" was going to be playing in the background, because while it wasn't _his_ , America knew that somewhere Japan would Know and Approve*.

At France's house, all the lights were on and the doors were unlocked. America, disappointed that he wasn't going to have to break in, decided to beat down the door anyway. The offending wood out of the way, he walked into the main entranceway and smelled the delicious scent of what could only be –

"Hamburgers!" he cried in glee. Yes, he had vengeance on the mind and it was very important, but _hamburgers!_ Surely Canada's bruised chastity wouldn't mind if America's empty stomach got something to eat first.

Following his nose, America went to the kitchen and was a bit surprised, but not alarmed, to see both Italy brothers cooking. He gleefully sat down at the counter. "You're making hamburgers!" he informed them happily.

"Shut up," Romano snapped at him.

"We are! Maybe if I make them myself I can figure out why you like them so much," Veneciano trilled in that way which made America want to keep him as a pet. "Would you like some?"

America nodded, excited. "You bet! There's nothing better to wash down the cold taste of revenge like a nice hot hamburger."

"Ve~ that's kinda weird but okay!" Veneciano flipped a burger.

"Psychotic bastard," Romano muttered.

* * *

* Japan did Know, and he did Approve.

* * *

"So, Germany, Spain," England began, "I do have to ask, before I forget… do the Italy brothers have some sort of mystical twin bond that lets them sense the others emotions?'

Germany's bright-red face answered the question, but just in case it didn't Spain got a little smile on his face as he answered, "Weirdest bonus ever, especially if we get the timing right and-"

"Waaaay too much information!" Prussia snapped once he saw the Look that France gave England.

England for his part pinched the bridge of his nose. "You're absolutely never coming into any bed I'm in, frog, and if you touch America sexually I cannot be held responsible for any pain you're subsequently subjected to, by either me or him."

France merely smiled enigmatically, wondering just how much alcohol he'd need to change England's tune. Not that England was even necessary…

"All right, enough bullshit!" Prussia interrupted. It's time to put this pseudo-awesome plan into action!" He clapped his younger brother on the back; it was clear from his expression that he considered "pseudo-awesome" to be a great compliment for Germany.

Moving together, Germany and Prussia flanked America on either side while Spain was in the middle. America, mouth full of delicious burger, didn't seem to either notice or care.

England stepped forward into the kitchen, the calmest smile he could muster on his face. "Hello, America. Jolly good to see you there, luv."

America waved, chipper, and swallowed. "Hey England! These burgers are awesome! Way better than anything you or I could ever make!"

They had worked as a distractor, then, if America couldn't remember he was in France's house enough to wonder why England was there. England gestured behind him, and France entered the scene.

America stood up. Germany and Prussia each grabbed one of his arms while Spain wrapped himself around his legs. "YOU ASSHOLE! YOU BROKE MY BABY BROTHER'S HEART!" he roared; in his attempt to kill France, he managed to drag the three men holding him exactly one inch forward. Veneciano and Romano hid beneath a beautifully-embroidered white flag.

England stepped forward and took America's cheeks in his hands. "America, look at me," he said in his sternest voice. America's eyes flicked to him then back to France. Having no other recourse, he snapped, _"Alfred Fairfax Jones!"_

There was snickering from under the flag. Prussia chortled. "Hey!" America cried in dismay, "I can't believe you middle-named me, in front of witnesses!"

"Then listen to me! Canada was going to tell you that France was in love with him, you stupid git!"

"Awwww," said everyone who wasn't France, England or America.

America was visibly processing this information. "I guess the knowledge that someone who you've been pining over for over 200 years loves you is kinda emotional," he admitted, having had first-hand experience. "Plus he's a bit of a sissy." At the Looks everyone was giving him, he awkwardly continued, "I once made him cry by telling him all of his faults! Like geez, dude, you should know these already, can't believe you'd cry. Ha ha, yeah."

"That was you!" Canada declared dramatically and breathlessly, obviously having sprinted here from the airport. France definitely did not hide behind him, no matter what other disreputable nations will tell you*. At France's not-hiding, Canada was hastily reminded of what he was here for and so said, "Also, France didn't break up with me, he told me he loves me!"

"Awwww," said everyone who wasn't France, England, America or Canada.

"Would you all knock that off!" France snapped at their audience, because there was his sexy bachelor pride to think of, after all, even if he was now not exactly a bachelor. Prussia and Romano gave him the finger.

America looked at Canada and France and at length nodded. "Hey France, sorry I broke into your house to attempt murder over a misunderstanding, dude. We still cool?"

France shrugged. "You'd be surprised how often that happens."

Canada smiled. "Crisis averted, then. Go ahead and let him go, boys." Germany and Prussia let go. Spain, who was using America's bum as a pillow, did not.

A shot rang out and America slumped forward, only held up by a napping Spaniard.

Everyone looked at Switzerland.

"What?" he asked, putting his rifle away.

* * *

* He totally did hide behind Canada.

* * *

"So let me get this straight," France mused from his spot at the end of America's hospital bed, "This entire situation was in attempt to form a relationship between myself and Canada? Never mind that _Amerique_ spent most of it attempting to murder me?"

America had gotten a pretzel for good behavior and he was happily sucking on it, so England was the one to answer, "Regrettably, yes. May your love flourish, etcetera, but I find I must apologise, and should America plan to match-make anyone else in the future I'll be sure to veto most of his ideas."

America pouted. Canada nuzzled him. "It was the thought that counts, and we did end up together in the end," he said fondly. "Besides, I feel like I learned things."

"Really?" France asked doubtfully, and neither he nor England looked convinced.

Canada shrugged. "I feel like it, at least."

America took the pretzel out. "I learned that sometimes I have to trust in Canada's judgment and let him make his own mistakes without beating the crap out of anyone who hurts him," he said wisely. "Although I'll still do that, _France._ "

France waved that away with a hand. "Yes, yes I get the picture. Are you going to pay for the damages to my home, by the way?"

"Nope."

Canada thoughtfully added, "I learned that America does care, although he's stupid about it. I also learned that if I follow my heart and say what's on my mind, things will turn out for the best." He also learned that America was an attention whore who managed to monopolize _his_ getting-together scenario. He shouldn't be surprised.

"Good for you!" England cooed, patting Canada on the head.

France hummed thoughtfully, looking at his newfound love who was cuddling with his brother. "I suppose I learned that, well, sometimes love can be found in places where you aren't looking. And also, in light of recent scenarios," he purred in French, "America is incredibly violent and cheap, and I've got the better twin."

Canada snickered. America pouted because he really didn't like it when they all talked specifically so he couldn't understand. "I also learned I'm gonna have to learn French," he muttered.

" _Bonne._ "

Everyone looked to England.

"I learned absolutely nothing." Except for that thing about the twins, but that was better left unsaid… for now.

France agreed.


End file.
